in this endless night
by skyestiel
Summary: Castiel is a bright teenager living a comfortable and promising life inside No. 6, one of the six utopian city-states. On the rainy evening of his twelfth birthday, a boy slips through Castiel's window, a boy that he later learns is, of all things, a demon. The two become reluctant companions; however, 4 years later, things change and ties become stronger. AKA: the Dean/Cas No.6!AU
1. part 1: i

**Author's Note:** Well, well, well. If you're reading this, I love you. I recently finished watching this, and I just... wow. Anime is great, and certainly offered me inspiration when I needed it.

As I said in the summary, this fic is based on the anime series called No.6. I highly recommend that you watch it, but you don't have to in order to read this fic. It's not completely the same. However, this scene does in fact happen in the very first episode of the series. Dean's character is based off of Nezumi/Rat, Castiel's is based off of Shion/Sion, and Anna's is based off of Safu

Oh, and totally random, but the title of this comes from the English translation of "Rokutousei no Yoru", which plays during the ending credits of No.6. Cool stuff, right?

Anyway, enough of that. I really hope that everyone enjoys this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Come talk to me on tumblr and twitter whenever you'd like!

* * *

In the chill of an underground room, somewhere on the outskirts of No.6, a little girl and her brother huddled close. Between them sat a third person, the person they had come to see. These days, many children flocked to this room to hear the melodic voice of Castiel reading from the frayed pages of one of his companion's extensive collection of stories.

Huddled together on a surprisingly comfortable red couch, they peered up into Castiel's scarlet eyes. He smiled back at them, wispy strands of snow white hair tickling his lips. "What story would you like me to read today? _Macbeth_?"

The two siblings shared a conspiratorial glance. Karan, the sister, nodded and turned her attention back to Castiel. "Actually, we were hoping you could tell us one of your own stories."

"My stories?"

"Yeah… the one about how you and Dean met," the little boy mumbled, playing with the frayed hem of his shirt.

To their relief, Castiel didn't seem to be offended by their request. Of course, the only way you could possibly upset him was if you insulted Dean. Everyone knew that a single comment could land you six feet beneath the ground. He could actually be pretty scary when he wanted to be.

"I suppose," Castiel chuckled softly, "I've never actually done this before, though, so bear with me."

"That's fine," the two chimed in unison. Excited, they snuggled even closer to Castiel, propping their elbows on each of the young man's thighs. People listened to Castiel read from novels and plays all the time, but not once had anyone asked to hear about his own history.

"Alright, well, I was only twelve years old when we first met…"

* * *

Castiel clutched the sweater close to his chest, rubbing the thick fabric absentmindedly between his thumb and forefinger.

Anna was right. Even though it was not one of the synthetic materials people commonly used throughout No.6, it still felt like it could stand up to just about anything. When she'd excitedly offered it to Castiel, gazing at him as if he had hung the moon and the stars in the sky, he'd gratefully accepted it. But, frankly, he hadn't realized how truly thankful he was for it until now. Something about the weight of it in his arms, the scratchy fabric brushing against his skin with every step, led him to believe he would wear it often and make good use out of it.

Castiel sighed loudly and stepped over to the panel on the wall. Every room in his house came equipped with a remote control of sorts. The little electronic tablet popped out of the wall and allowed its user to manipulate practically everything in the room, ranging from the lighting to the speakers to the window leading out to the porch. It also allowed him to keep in touch with his mother who spent most of her time in her room or in the kitchen.

His eyes suddenly felt heavy, posing the unwelcome challenge of fighting to keep them open. He just came from Anna's grandmother's house where he'd spent the past few hours casually exploring the older woman's closet and making small talk over dinner. During class about a week ago, Anna had insisted he come over to celebrate his twelfth birthday at her grandmother's place. He had suggested bringing over one of his mother's cakes, but Anna refused; she wanted to bake the cake. The one she'd made, with its creamy frosting and rich flavor, had been a pleasant surprise. He could've easily eaten the entire thing in one sitting.

Overall, his visit hadn't felt any different than past occasions. As a matter of fact, this particular visit had actually been better than most, what with the delicious pastry and opportunity for casual conversation, this time with people other than his mother. Not that he minded all that much. She spent many nights cradling Castiel against her chest, listening to all of his problems, offering words of wisdom and encouragement. Of course, he could talk to Anna- she would gladly listen to him drone on and on about anything- but he didn't trust anyone the way he did his mother. So, yes, he had enjoyed himself greatly, but Anna's grandmother… something she said had struck a nerve.

"Everything is taken care of for us here in No.6," she'd mused. The statement probably didn't have any animosity behind it, but it didn't sit well with Castiel. Then, with the same wistful look in her eyes, she went on to say that she never knew what to do with herself and spent her time knitting because there was nothing else for her to do in the magnificent utopia that was No.6. Castiel found each comment to be quite unsettling. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in the multitude of coats and clothing in the older woman's closet, to hide from the disturbing and possibly dangerous thoughts that the remarks had brought to the forefront of his mind.

Oh, and the kiss. How had he forgotten that? Before he and Anna had departed, standing out in the downpour brought on by the latest typhoon, she leaned over and placed a small kiss on his cheek. It felt… nice. Anna had clearly intended it to mean something more, though, and he regretted telling her he didn't see it the same way she did. He couldn't understand why it was any different from the kiss his mother had given him that morning. Both had made him feel warm, like he was floating on a cloud high above the world without a care in the world. When he had told her the truth, she became defensive and hadn't hesitated to send Castiel away, regardless of the fact that, only seconds before, she'd been desperate to keep him around.

Standing in his room now, Castiel pondered everything that'd happened to him in the past twenty-four hours. The way people had reacted to his acceptance into the honors program, the way Anna's grandmother had spoken of No.6, the way Anna had kissed him and called him strange for looking forward to the impending storm.

As strange as it might sound, Castiel could hardly wait for the evenings when a storm tore through the city. He wanted to feel the rain hitting his skin, feel the wind toss his hair around and ruffle his clothing. Nature captivated him on a level most people wouldn't and obviously couldn't understand. No one expressed the same appreciation for the blustering breeze or floating leaves; it was a shame.

His mother would probably scold Castiel later, but he could care less. He swiped his finger across the button that opened the window to the outside and turned. His room, like his mother's, had two floors. The bottom floor, where he currently stood, had a sitting area and a small closet filled with keepsakes, including his old trophies and textbooks. Secretly, he'd considered pitching them, but his mother insisted that he keep them. "They have sentimental value," she claimed every time he brought it up.

Meanwhile, his bed and bookshelves could be found on the second floor. That was the place he spent most of his free time. He always liked the view from his bed, the fact that he could peer over the second floor banister in the morning and watch the sunset or lie in bed at night and peer up at the constellations.

The glass panes of the window spanned the entire wall opposite the staircase and second-story bed space. Like his bed, the desk on the first floor allowed him to stare out at the surrounding area. There had been several occasions in the past when he had become distracted while composing a thesis and caught himself looking out over the treetops, lingering on the leafy branches before drifting to the buildings off in the distance.

And, as he knew from many storms in the past, that same view was even more impressive with the window open.

The moment the panes separated and moved apart, the wind filtered through and made itself at home in his room. Castiel ran headlong into it, unfazed by the merciless gusts of wind and heavy downpour, and didn't think twice about what he was about to do. The curtains fluttered furiously and papers flew in every direction. Rain drops struck Castiel's face and his exposed arms. He had yet to change out of his green sweater vest, button-down, and khaki's, all of which were covered in tiny droplet-shaped water stains.

He walked out onto the porch and turned his gaze up to the sky. Completely out of the blue, the urge to tilt his head back and yell at the top of his lungs struck him like a slap across the face. The dark clouds and ceaseless downpour shrouded everything in a fantastical haze, and, everywhere he looked, he knew without a doubt in his mind that _this_ was the true power of nature.

How incredible! He'd never, in all of his monotonous and pathetically boring days, felt anything quite like it before. He wanted to jump and dance and fling his arms out as he spun in a circle. Unable to hold it back any longer, he grabbed the banister, leaned his head back, and screamed.

He screamed for the children who confronted him about the honors program. He screamed for Anna and her soft lips and fiery spirit. He screamed for her grandmother and the ridiculous amount of free time she had at her disposal. And, lastly, he screamed for himself. For the boy who wanted nothing more than to experience the world for more than what he saw at face value, to explore the unknown, no matter how dangerous that might be.

Time seemed to fly by, carried away by the winds of the storm. Castiel wasn't sure how long he stood out on the porch yelling like a buffoon. He eventually stopped, and his eyes fluttered shut. Rain had a particular odor, fresh and sweet, like the dew on the carefully trimmed blades of grass in his garden in the morning. Other smells mixed in with the heavy shower's aroma, and Castiel eagerly breathed it all in.

How could anyone completely isolate themselves from this? How could they resist running out into a storm to fully experience nature's insurmountable might?

Satisfied, Castiel reopened his eyes and straightened back up again. He was about to let out one more triumphant cry, just for the fun of it, when the obnoxious sound of his room's built-in alarm began to blare. The sound was nothing like that of the storm, which Castiel welcomed- quite literally- with open arms.

Surprised and, admittedly, a little scared, he stepped back into his room and quickly strode over to the wall panel. A huge red box with the word "WARNING" in block letters filled the tiny screen. He was baffled. What could it possibly-

Castiel swallowed. He felt the tiny hairs on the nape of his neck raise and his shoulders tense. Someone was watching him.

He slowly turned back toward the window, heart pounding wildly in his chest. The intruder, whoever was watching him, must've slipped in without him noticing, when he'd opened the window. Guilt rippled through his body at the thought. He'd been careless, and now a potentially dangerous stranger was in their house.

But, when he gave the "dangerous intruder" a quick once-over, his worry receded. Standing in the open window only a few feet away was a boy. That's right- a boy. He wore a ratty plaid shirt that was clearly too big for him and shorts that also seemed like they would be better suited for someone larger. Unlike Castiel's dark, shaggy hair, the boy's short golden brown hair didn't move much when the wind attempted to play with it and toss it about.

Standing there, folded in on himself with his head down, the young intruder looked frail and helpless. His right hand was clamped tightly around his left bicep, which, to Castiel's horror, was covered in blood. It seeped through his fingers and trickled slowly down his arm. A small puddle of the sticky red fluid had already started to form on the floor around him.

Castiel opened his mouth to speak, ready to tell the boy that he needed to stop the bleeding before things became serious, but was immediately silenced by blood-smeared fingers clasping around his neck. The boy moved surprisingly fast, and Castiel's brain hadn't quite caught up with what was happening.

_Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump_.

Castiel felt his breath catch in his throat, heart pounding frantically in his chest, ready to burst out of his chest at any moment. The boy pressed Castiel up against the wall, holding him in place with the hand he was using to choke him. He could barely breathe, gasping for air, lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. Startled, Castiel stared down at the intruder.

"Don't move," the boy growled. His voice was deep, far too deep to be that of a young child. It further piqued Castiel's interest and drove him to speak, even though his Adam's apple was being squeezed and would likely shatter within the next few seconds if the boy refused to slacken his grip.

"You're hurt."

"Shut up. I could kill you if I-"

"I can tend to your wounds," Castiel managed to choke out. Most people would probably think he was insane, offering up his assistance to someone who wanted him dead. But the desire to help someone in need, someone who might slip out of consciousness within the next few minutes if not treated properly, was too strong. Unlike Anna, Castiel didn't comply with the concept of always trusting logic rather than a gut feeling.

The boy regarded him cooly, peering up at him with narrowed eyes. At this distance, Castiel couldn't help but notice their brilliant color. Forest green lined the outer rim, while the center contained flecks of gold and a light shade of brown. They were stunning, even like this, furious and illuminated only by the gleam of the wall panel and the natural light of the night sky.

"Why would you do that?" the boy asked skeptically. He didn't seem convinced, but, of course, he knew nothing about Castiel. However, with those striking eyes, he felt like the boy managed to see right through the calm and courteous façade he maintained for his classmates, best friend, and mother.

"I know how to do it. Besides, if they're not tended to soon, you may go into shock. Or something. I'm not exactly sure what will happen, but, no matter what, I know that it won't end well," Castiel insisted. He could barely speak and hoped silently that the boy could make out what he was saying. Of course, he was the one strangling Castiel so if he couldn't decipher his garbled words, it was his own fault.

Before the boy could answer, the familiar trilling of the panel's call notification filled the room. This wasn't good. His mother must've heard all of the commotion; there was no way she would overlook all of the noise coming from her _teenage _son's room, even if he appeared to be the very image of innocence.

"Please, I'll help you," Castiel begged. He raised his arm and gestured toward the panel. "I won't tell her about you. I swear, just let me talk to her."

Although Castiel had just met him, he could already tell that the boy's eyes served as a direct window into his soul, just like the open window, offering a glimpse into the chaotic mess and maelstrom of emotions within. Those brilliant green irises said everything he couldn't put into words. And right now, they told Castiel everything he needed to know. The boy clearly didn't want to place his trust in a stranger, but, with his current options, that "stranger" was his best choice.

He reluctantly loosened his grip and shifted his gaze to the wall panel. Castiel took it to be an agreement and lifted his arm, pressing his knuckle to the "answer" button.

"Hey, mom, what's wrong?"

"Did you leave your window open again? I heard the alarm going off," his mother wondered. She sounded irritated. Castiel understood her frustration; this wasn't the first time they'd discussed the window situation.

"Oh, yeah. I did."

"I told you not to do that," she sighed, "you'll catch a cold."

"I know, I'm sorry," Castiel replied, pouring every ounce of sincerity he could into the apology. He needed to convince her nothing was wrong. Otherwise, she wouldn't drop the issue, and he'd have to send the boy, the one bleeding out on his carpet, away. Castiel reasoned that he wouldn't make it far on foot before he passed out. "It won't happen again."

He pressed his knuckle to the button that would close the window and waited. An excuse- he needed to come up with an excuse. And fast. His mother wouldn't understand his need to treat the bleeding boy, especially since he was currently choking and threatening her son.

"Um, mom, listen, I need to work on a report for school. Is it okay if I eat dinner in my room tonight? I don't want to stay up _too_ late having to finish it." _When in doubt, use schoolwork as an excuse_, Castiel mused with a smirk. It always worked. He wrote numerous reports nowadays thanks to the honors program so it only made sense that he spent some nights holed up in his room, all alone, furiously typing a thesis or research assignment.

"Aw, you poor thing," his mother cooed, "That must be so hard! I'll have your dinner ready soon, and you can come down and get it, alright?"

"Sure, sounds good. Thanks, mom."

The line went silent, leaving Castiel completely alone with the drenched boy who continued to regard him doubtfully. Well, it wasn't like he hadn't been alone to begin with, but the reassuring sound of his mother's voice made it feel as if she were actually present, ready to protect Castiel if the stranger decided to attack. Without the connection, he felt vulnerable. The boy reluctantly drew his arm back, allowing Castiel to finally breathe normally once again. He eagerly gulped in air and struggled to regain his composure. It wasn't often that he found himself pressed to the wall by someone who intended to _kill_ him.

"We need… to stop… the bleeding," he panted and took a step away from the wall. The boy jumped back, widening his stance. Castiel didn't understand; the boy looked afraid. He was the _last_ person the boy should be afraid of. Especially considering the fact he'd agreed to help him and keep him from bleeding to death.

Castiel ignored the sneer on the other boy's face and sprinted toward the door to his closet. He would've turned around to make sure the boy was following but knew it wasn't necessary. No matter how distrusting and stubborn he was, he didn't seem like an idiot. The wound would only get worse if he didn't treat it, and he understood that.

The nearest bookshelf, the first one you saw when you walked in, held his trophies from elementary school. He supposed that those were of value. He had no use for them in this situation, though, and stepped past them to the other shelf where he kept his textbooks. A white box with a red cross emblazoned on the front sat on the bottom shelf. He reached down and pulled it out. It had been years since he'd actually used it.

He looked back to see if the boy really was as smart as he previously thought, and, sure enough, he'd already sat himself next to the tiny closet's only light source. His legs were crossed, as well as his bony arms. Castiel didn't know a great deal about body language, but he remembered a conversation he'd had with Anna about the topic. The boy's position revealed just how uncomfortable he felt in Castiel's room, how nervous and afraid he was, impatiently waiting as blood continued to drip from his elbow.

Smiling usually helped to relieve some tension, and, unable to come up with anything better, Castiel flashed him a grin. The boy smirked but nothing more. Taking it as an invitation, Castiel settled into the space beside him. He assumed the same cross-legged position and set the first aid kit on the ground in front of him. The box didn't have a lock, and Castiel easily opened it and pulled out a roll of gauze.

Although he'd never actually given someone stitches before, he knew the steps and techniques that the simple procedure required. He pushed back the boy's bloody sleeve and knew immediately that stitches would be necessary.

"So, you're enrolled in the honors program?"

The question caught Castiel off guard. He clipped off the strip of gauze he would later use to wrap around the boy's bicep and glanced up at his face. Those wide, forest green eyes flicked away when they met Castiel's, but he knew that the boy had been tracking every single one of his movements. At this point, Castiel couldn't tell whether he was still skeptical or merely curious.

"Yeah, I start next month."

"Well, how impressive. You must have a high IQ."

Castiel scowled. He hated it when people dragged his IQ into a conversation. What did it matter? He was more than just a number. Besides, the boy sounded snide when he made the remark. Castiel pressed the disinfectant to the wound and couldn't keep the smirk off his face when the boy winced and yelped in pain.

"Are you making fun of me?" Castiel snapped, continuing to clean the wound.

"No. A Rank A in your class at the age of two would've easily landed you in the best educational program around. And if you've been accepted into the honors program at the age of twelve, that really is pretty damn impressive."

Castiel hadn't been paying much attention to the boy's assessment of his academic background. Instead, he held the syringe with anesthetic in front of his face and excitedly raked his gaze over the needle. The boy looked over at where Castiel sat and quickly slid away, staring at the syringe like he had just seen a ghost.

"What are you doing? What the hell is that?"

"Local anesthesia, of course."

"Wow, wow, wait a second," the boy croaked, never once taking his eyes off the needle, "why is local anesthesia necessary?"

"You need stitches."

"Stitches? You ever done this before?" The boy's eyes bugged out of his head. He shifted back even further and held his hand out in a placating gesture. He looked truly and utterly terrified. Castiel had to stop himself from laughing out loud; he still couldn't believe anyone could possibly be afraid of _him_, of all people.

"Of course not! I'm majoring in ecology. But I do have a basic understanding of how to suture blood vessels," Castiel explained. He didn't want to lie to him. If he really were as disbelieving as he seemed, he wouldn't take kindly to Castiel lying about something as important as whether he'd ever treated another person's wounds before.

"Well. Basic understanding, you say?" He bit down on his lower lip and appeared to mull the situation over in his head. It didn't take long, though, for him to make his decision. Grimacing, he slid closer to Castiel and reached out his arm. Yet again, Castiel noted that the boy was, by no means, an idiot.

He carefully pierced his skin with the needle and released the anesthetic into the boy's system. He cringed and grunted in pain as it entered his body. Even though Castiel couldn't see whether he was being observed, the familiar feeling of being watched let him know that the boy wanted to know exactly what was being done to him.

"Your arm should feel numb. Here, press this gauze to the wound. It'll stop any extra bleeding." Castiel brought a bit of the gauze up to the wound and held it there, flashing the boy a reassuring grin.

Thankfully, he did as he was instructed and held the tiny square in place. His penetrating stare didn't waver, didn't stray once from his caretaker. They held an intensity that Castiel couldn't believe belonged to a twelve year old boy, even one that was recovering from blood loss. _He must be a fugitive or something_, Castiel speculated.

"Buddy, you are so weird."

"Huh? Why?" Castiel asked, genuinely curious. He'd been called many things before- intelligent, kind, intuitive- but never weird. Not even the children at school who teased him for enrolling in the honors program referred to him as "weird."

"You haven't even asked for my name."

"Oh, I guess you're right. But I haven't given you my name either," Castiel clarified. He had completely forgotten that the boy had a name. It hadn't seemed significant, what with everything else going on. The whole "bleeding out" thing? Yeah, that was probably more important than a simple name when someone's life was on the line.

"It's Castiel. Like the angel," the boy deadpanned.

"Uh, yeah, actually," Castiel croaked. _How on earth had he known that?_ "My dad… he used to be very religious." His father and mother both majored in theology, a field of mythological studies that few people took an interest in anymore. From what Castiel heard, it had been more popular around the time the city-states were first founded. Its popularity had diminished in the last century. "What's your name?"

"Dean."

"Dean?"

"Dean," he repeated without any sort of inflection.

"That… for some reason, that doesn't feel right." Castiel couldn't think of how to put it into words. The name wasn't common in No.6. And, although his own name seemed stranger and, from experience, more difficult to say, he _felt_ like a "Castiel." This boy, for some bizarre reason, didn't look like a "Dean."

Dean had no response. He merely stared at Castiel, tightlipped and skeptical. Apparently, he had no problem with the name, and probably thought Castiel was even weirder for thinking such an outlandish thing.

"Well, I better stitch you up," Castiel mumbled. The last thing he wanted was the boy to find another reason not to trust him. He glanced down at the first aid kit and pushed aside the rolls of gauze, pulling the needle and thread out. The prospect of performing a procedure he'd never done before didn't make him as nervous as it probably should; he found the idea to be exhilarating. "How did you get this anyway?"

"I was shot."

Castiel nearly dropped the needle. There was no way he'd heard that right. "Shot? Like with a gun?"

"Yeah," Dean grumbled, refusing to offer a better or lengthier explanation. He was a man of few words.

"I thought that guns were restricted to demon hunters? They're the only people that need them."

"Exactly."

Castiel blinked. _No. No, it couldn't be_. This boy, this innocent-looking boy with striking green eyes and soft features, couldn't possibly be a demon. Castiel had read extensively about the beasts the police force kept out of No.6, and they sounded nothing like the person sitting beside him. He remembered pouring over textbooks with diagrams, every single one depicting demons as tall, broad-shouldered men and women with depthless eyes and a lust for human blood. Even though they were only artist renditions, the faces always appeared angry and mischievous, a hint of bloodlust in their cold, lifeless gaze.

"You're… but how? You don't look like one! And the black eyes- you don't have those. Plus, the government would never hunt you down at this age." Castiel's hands shook, and he couldn't make them stop. Demons were monstrosities that killed for fun, not innocent boys with bony limbs and thin shoulders. Had he been trying to get into the city? What other reason would the hunters have for hunting a young demon like Dean?

"There's more to it than that," Dean replied cryptically. He turned his head away and winced as Castiel drew the needle out and prepared to apply another stitch to the wound. "Your precious No.6 doesn't need a reason to hunt us. We're demons and that's reason enough."

Castiel had a million questions. He was curious by nature and despised vague answers. But he knew that pressing the issue would be stupid. Dean had provided his response and, from the cold distant look in his eyes, that was the extent of the explanation Castiel was getting.

Although Castiel knew he should force Dean to leave, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He knew deep down that the young demon, this child, was no monster. He was sure of it.

* * *

Castiel's mother was a sweet and deceptively strong woman, but she could also be incredibly naïve. When he walked into the kitchen, offering a brief "hey" when he entered the room, she spared him a fleeting glance before closing her eyes and resuming her nap. He quickly ladled some chicken soup into a bowl and cut a substantial slice of his mother's pie, placing both on a spare tray. He hoped that Dean would like his mother's cooking as much as he did. No matter what, though, he needed to eat something.

Slipping through the door and into the darkness that awaited him, Castiel reentered his room. He set the plate of food down on his desk and looked up toward the second floor. Dean's back was turned and the lack of light made it difficult to see, but Castiel could still make out the way he held the sweater in front of his face, inspecting it.

"You have some pretty poor taste. Bleh."

Castiel rolled his eyes. He strode across the room toward the wall panel, planning to turn the lights on as the dark steadily crept its way into his room. Navigating the space presented a considerable challenge, though, even if he had spent endless hours there since he'd achieved his Rank A classification and moved in. "You're one to talk. Have you ever taken the time to look at yourself in the mirror?"

"Hm," Dean huffed, not nearly as amused by Castiel's attempt at humor as he was, "What are you doing? Don't turn the light on."

"Why not? I can't see anything," Castiel cried. Maybe demons had better night vision than human beings.

"Do you mean to tell me that you don't know your own room well enough to move around in the dark?" Dean wondered.

Castiel overlooked the comment and settled for muttering insults under his breath instead as he ascended the stairs. He didn't know many insults anyway, and the young demon would likely make fun of him for his pathetic efforts. If he opened his mouth, he would never hear the end of it.

Frustrated by his strained vision, Castiel sighed heavily as he reached the final step and froze. Dean had lifted the plaid shirt over his head and was now tugging the scratchy purple sweater over his small frame. Castiel wasn't staring openly at him because he was half-naked; he was staring at the star-shaped scar that spanned from the space between his shoulder blades down to his lower back. The skin looked ugly and puckered, a stark contrast to his pale complexion. He wondered idly how it had gotten there but the potential reasons for such a large scar made him sick so he refrained from asking.

He also wondered if demon's had hidden eyes on the back of their head when Dean tugged the sweater down the rest of the way and turned to face Castiel with a disgusted grimace on his lips. "What?" he snapped, forest green eyes flicking everywhere except where Castiel stood.

"Nothing. I, um. I'm sorry," Castiel mumbled. He was thankful for Dean's inability to make eye contact as he felt the warmth of a flush creep up his neck and across his cheeks. "I heard them mention you on the news. D104551. You're famous."

Dean scoffed and threw himself down onto Castiel's mattress, arranging himself in the same cross-legged position from earlier. The sweater clearly belonged to a larger boy. It hung off of Dean's shoulders in a way that made him seem even smaller than he had when he'd first stepped into Castiel's room. The realization shocked him. Dean had looked fairly small to begin with; Castiel couldn't believe there was an article of clothing that further dwarfed him.

"Much better in person, wouldn't you say?" Dean replied cheekily. He opened his mouth, likely preparing to make another crude remark, but stopped when he noticed the tray in Castiel's hands. He pursed his thin lips.

"I don't need this. You can have it. My mom is a pretty good cook." Castiel put on his best "please trust me" smile and held the tray of food out in Dean's direction. Clearly startled by the gesture of kindness, he looked down at the bowl of soup and slice of apple pie and then back up at Castiel's hopeful expression. After a few tense seconds, he snatched the tray quickly out of the boy's hands and placed it in his lap.

The apple pie happened to be one of Castiel's favorite pastries. Well, at least when it was prepared the way his mother made it. The rich flavor of baked Granny Smith apples and cinnamon along with the flaky texture of the crust made his mouth water just thinking about it. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy her other dishes. The small bowl of chicken noodle soup, wisps of steam rising from its surface, also caused Castiel's hunger to resurface. If it weren't for the demon's unnaturally pallid complexion and weakened state, he might have been tempted to take the food for himself, polishing it off before he even made it back to his room.

Dean hesitantly brought a piece of pie to his lips. He'd seemed apprehensive when Castiel initially set the meal in front of him, but, with the promise of sustenance so close, he eagerly slipped the fork tongs between his lips. He chewed slowly, eyes closed, and swallowed. "'S pretty good," he admitted.

"Told you," Castiel trilled triumphantly. He considered going back downstairs to offer Dean some privacy, but his curiosity got the better of him. Careful as to not spook his reluctant guest, Castiel lowered himself onto the bed beside Dean. "Can I ask you something?"

"I figure you're going to ask no matter what I say so go ahead," Dean sighed. He clearly intended to offend Castiel, but there was a fondness to his tone that belayed his real feelings. Like Castiel, he appeared to enjoy the companionship, and he couldn't help but wonder whether demons like Dean even _had_ friends.

"How did you get into the city? The police force's job is to keep demons out, and they seem to do a good job of it. I've never seen one before. Well, up until now," Castiel explained, glancing at his hands which lay clasped in his lap. "And so young… how? How did you pull something like that off?"

"It's a secret. If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

Castiel's eyes widened. He'd spent the last hour or so convincing himself that Dean didn't pose a threat. And now he had to go and say _that_? Maybe he was wrong about Dean after all. Afraid, he felt his shoulders tense.

"It's strange, though. The way you're helping me," Dean carried on, as if he hadn't just threatened Castiel, "A pampered member of the elite like you, housing a demon? If the government finds out about this, you can forget this house and you can definitely forget your acceptance into the honors program."

"Yeah, it'll be pretty bad," Castiel agreed. He had a point. The last time he'd ever heard of a person housing a demon was… well, never. No one dared to do such a thing. The demons were the human race's enemy; furthermore, they were kept out of the city and away from any people who'd even consider such a treasonous act.

"Are you nuts or something?"

Castiel almost toppled backwards. Dean had scooted closer and now held the frightened boy's right wrist in a vice grip. "Whatever happens to you has got nothing to do with me. But I'd feel terrible if something happened to you because of me."

The sentiment shocked Castiel. How could someone go from spewing threats to being concerned for someone else's well-being in such a short amount of time? Castiel couldn't keep up with the rollercoaster of emotions. Dean huffed and set the tray off to the side. He shifted and wormed his way beneath the covers, burying his face in Castiel's pillow.

"Then tell me how you managed to get past the police," Castiel whispered, watching the back of Dean's head as he tossed and turned in an attempt to get comfortable.

"Can you forget something once you've heard it? Can you pretend that you know nothing?"

Castiel wanted to say that yes, he most certainly could. But, yet again, his urge to be honest with Dean overpowered his desire to gather information. He simply stayed quiet and waited for his cynical new companion to finish. It felt like he had more to say.

"That's what I thought. And you know what? In exchange, I won't tell anyone about the fact that you scream like a little girl," Dean purred.

"_What_? You saw that?"

"The better question is how could someone _not_? I was hiding in the garden down there, and you can imagine my surprise when I looked up and saw you standing out on the porch, screaming your damn head off."

"Wait a-"

"At first, I thought maybe I had the wrong house. I thought that a boy named 'Castiel' lived here, but it didn't _sound_ like a boy."

"Shut up!" Castiel cried. Furious, he reached for the covers, ready to pull them back and confront Dean face to face. How dare he say that! A demon had no room to talk. Castiel had heard of the species' strange quirks and capabilities, such as the infamous black eyes.

Before his fingers could close around the sheets, Dean beat him to the punch-line. He threw the covers off of his body and shoved his hands against Castiel's chest. With surprising speed, Dean pushed him down onto the mattress and wrapped his hands around his wrists, holding them firmly in place above Castiel's head. He straddled the boy's waist and used his new position to render him completely immobile.

Castiel's mouth hung open, gaping at the wild eyes peering down at him with murderous intent. Dean brought the spoon he'd used to eat his soup to Castiel's neck and slid it across the defenseless boy's throat, directly above his jugular vein. With a manic grin on his lips, he leaned forward, and, for a fleeting moment, Castiel thought he was going to kiss him.

But, at the last second, he changed direction and brought his lips over to Castiel's ear. Their foreheads were nearly touching, and he couldn't quite figure out why his mind needed to remind him of such an unimportant detail. What did it matter? He should be more concerned about his defenseless position and the cold metal pressed against his skin, shouldn't he?

"If this were a knife," Dean whispered, voice low and even raspier than usual, "you'd already be dead."

Dean's breath ghosted across the sensitive skin just below Castiel's ear, eliciting a full-body shiver from his current victim. He didn't seem to notice- or simply didn't care- about the reaction and stilled.

This, being pinned down and threatened, should've frightened Castiel. He should've been shaking with fear, not shivering because his body took a liking to the way Dean's breathing tickled his skin. The sensation left him feeling exhilarated instead of afraid. The gears in his head immediately began to turn, kindling Castiel's fascination with the unknown.

"Amazing!"

"Huh?" Dean leaned back to look at Castiel's face, confused by the sudden outburst.

"How can you immobilize someone so quickly?" Castiel wondered. He wished that he knew how to do such a thing. The technique would come in handy if he ever found himself in a dangerous situation. Of course, the likelihood of encountering actual danger in No.6 seemed awfully slim. "Are there certain pressure points that you hit?"

It was Dean's turn to gape at Castiel. Since he'd barged in, Dean's emotions had ranged from unsure to angry to smug. Not once had he looked so baffled. For some reason, the thought made Castiel swell with pride. He'd managed to surprise the know-it-all demon.

Castiel was about to ask where he'd learned to master something like that, especially at his age, but Dean suddenly collapsed on top of him. He buried his face in the pillow beside Castiel's head, filling the room with the charming sound of muffled laughter. Dean still held Castiel's arms above his head, but his grip slackened, loosely wrapped around the motionless boy's wrists in a way that suddenly felt more intimate than it did threatening.

"You really are insane, Cas. A real nutjob," Dean chuckled, shaking the entire bed as his body released a steady stream of genuine laughter.

_Cas_. No one had ever called him by that name before. Not his mother, not even his childhood friend. The short, three-letter word seemed like it belonged on Dean's lips, though, as if it had been made for them.

"You've got a fever," Castiel supplied weakly, hoping that Dean would move and put an end to the confusing thoughts swimming in his head. To his disappointment and, secretly, his delight, the hysterical boy completely ignored Castiel and didn't budge. "You should take some antibiotics," he tried again.

Dean's laughter slowly tapered down to tiny huffs against Castiel's pillow. The bed no longer shook, and the pleasant vibrations from the rapid rising and falling of Dean's chest stopped. "No, thanks. I think I'm just going to go to sleep now," Dean mumbled.

The room felt warmer than it had before. Dean quietly turned his head to face Castiel and slowly released his hold on the other boy's wrists. Castiel thought of moving away, but an arm snaking around his neck erased any such notion. Satisfied with the shift, Dean sighed contentedly and slung his right leg over Castiel's waist, moving so that only half his body covered the other boy's.

_Strange_. That was the first word that came to mind. But it wasn't an uncomfortable sort of strange. It was actually more of a pleasantly surprised kind of strange, the kind of strange that made Castiel feel warm and fuzzy, even warmer than when Anna had placed a gentle kiss on his cheek earlier that day. The sensation would be difficult to describe with mere words. If it were one of his school assignments, to describe the way it felt to be held by Dean, it would surely be the first one Castiel failed.

"Living people," Dean muttered, voice thick with the telltale slur of impending sleep, "are so warm."

And, just as Castiel suspected, Dean drifted off to sleep shortly after. The stoic set of his jaw looked softer like this, beckoning Castiel to reach out and brush his knuckles across it. It probably felt nice. And the lopsided grin looked honest and open, unlike any expression that crossed Dean's face when he was fully conscious. As creepy as it might sound, Castiel couldn't tear his gaze away from the peaceful expression on the softly snoring boy's face. He hadn't even realized demons required sleep.

Was… was it a lie? Had the government been issuing false information about demons? The implications made Castiel nauseous. If the government had spent the last few centuries misinforming its people about the creatures beyond its city's walls, what other information would it justify twisting until it fit its expectations?

Castiel hesitantly brought his hand up to rest between Dean's shoulder blades. He drew him in a little closer, satisfied by the content sigh that slipped past his parted lips. As his fingers drifted across the sweater's thick fabric, his mind wandered to the scar on Dean's back.

Dean had been shot. Someone his age- _shot_. It was a disgusting thought. What kind of people would do such a thing? He didn't know Dean's full backstory, but he assumed that the hideous mark was the result of another gunshot wound. Not only had he been shot at once; he'd been shot at multiple times.

Doubt had clung to the fringes of Castiel's mind for several years now. It had waited patiently on the outskirts, tugging his conscious around in an attempt to show him something startling, something frightening and horrifyingly true. This couldn't possibly be a utopia. The city, No.6, was far from being the ideal society.

And from that point forward, Castiel knew with certainty that nothing would ever be the same.


	2. part 1: ii

**Author's Note: **Back again! Yeah, sorry this took so long. I've been writing the last chapter and epilogue of my other story, "I'll Have The Usual,"and it's kept me pretty busy. I love this fic, though, so I couldn't wait to get back to it!

Warnings... hm. Well, there is **violence**, including mentions of **blood** and **guns**. There's also **explicit language**, but that's kind of Dean's thing so get used to it.

Oh and just a little side note. Here's a link to the song I took the title of this fic from! Give it a listen- it's beautiful!

Other than that, enjoy, and come chat with me on tumblr or twitter!

**Chapter Summary:** Anna wants to have sex, and Dean drops one hell of a bombshell. Yeah, Castiel's life pretty much sucks.

* * *

"And then you had to move away, didn't you?"

The two young children had pulled the makeshift blanket, the one slung over the back of the Dean's ratty red couch, down to cover their legs at some point during Castiel's story. He'd never actually taken the time to sit down and talk about the night he and Dean had first met before. But, now that he had the opportunity, he couldn't help but fully immerse himself in the memories. Suddenly, four years didn't seem all that long ago.

Castiel regarded his little listeners fondly, quietly taking notice of how adorable they looked, cuddled up next to him, a pink flush dusting their cheeks. He wasn't sure whether they were cold or whether his story had actually excited them.

"Yes, the Demon Hunters heard about my criminal activity. They didn't like the way I'd harbored a demon, no matter how young he was at the time," Castiel explained, lips pursing into a thin line. He couldn't forget the sour look on the man's face, the head of the DHB. He was a fearsome man, a monstrous beast with not a single hair on his head and dark eyes that constantly leered at the world. That is, if you could catch a glimpse of them, what with the thick gray caterpillars that spent their time fighting wrinkles for space on his forehead. Castiel would never be able to forget his name: Samuel Campbell.

"We moved to a smaller house where my mother decided to become a baker. It suited her well enough, and she seemed happy. I took up a job with the cleaning bureau. It didn't pay much, but it was alright. I… I was alright."

Karan and her brother, Tomi, fixed him with eerily similar stares, as if he were a pitiful puppy who'd just lost his mother. Both reached out to wrap tiny fingers around Castiel's biceps, squeezing lightly, peering up at him from beneath shaggy hair. He didn't want to upset them so he mustered up his best fake smile and wrapped a reassuring arm around each of their thin shoulders, pulling them closer against his side. They giggled and sank further into the cushions. Castiel's smile felt a little less forced now.

"And…" Karan hesitated and tipped her head forward, hiding her face behind the thick mess of hair on top of her head.

"And?"

"Didn't you find a dead person when you were at work one day?" Tomi asked for his sister. Wide green eyes gazed up at Castiel, filled with childish amazement, and he couldn't refuse. He knew that it was all just a plan to get him to tell his entire story. But they were children, bored children living in what Castiel considered to be poverty and filth. Adventures such as his ridiculous one, as strange as it might seem, appealed to their curious minds.

"Unfortunately, I did. My coworker and I found a dead body one day. And the only person I could think of to tell was Anna…"

* * *

"Are you even paying attention?"

Castiel jumped, turning to meet Anna's furious glare. Her normally expressionless face was long gone, and, in its place, only an angry scowl and narrowed eyes remained. She was a couple inches shorter than Castiel with auburn hair that hung just a little past her shoulders, long strands fluttering in the gusts of cool evening air. A trench coat, similar to his but lighter in color, hung off of her shoulders and, beneath that, she wore a rosy pink cardigan and magenta skirt that stopped about two inches above her knees. She had a prominent chin, button nose, and heart-shaped face, framed perfectly by her hair.

"Yeah, um, sorry," Castiel mumbled, reaching up to scratch nervously at his neck. The two had been walking alongside the river that ran through No.6, the one that wound its way around towering buildings and bustling streets, providing a path for local boats and ferries. He frequently found himself sitting somewhere alongside the river, staring down into its depths. Something about the way the light struck the water, reflecting the sky and surroundings in its surprisingly clear surface, captivated him. Admittedly, he'd only vaguely been paying attention to Anna- and not to the extent she hoped he would.

Without any kind of warning, Anna stopped in her tracks and thrust her arm out, right in front of Castiel's still-moving chest, nearly sending him toppling back onto the unforgiving cement of the pathway. This particular part of the path led to a station that served as the stopping point for passenger ferries. It made travel between the outer edges of No.6 back to the inner city- and vice versa- much easier for the citizens. "Wait, Castiel," she snapped, an uncertain edge to her voice that immediately raised red flags in his head. Anna's voice usually showed no emotion.

He did as she asked and stood his ground. As he watched Anna, who had her back turned to him for some reason, he wondered if he would soon find out why she'd asked him to spend time with her today. That morning, she'd called and practically begged him to come out with her and take a "casual stroll" through the city. He had originally assumed it was because she scheduled to leave the next day and fly out to No.5, the city-state known for its outstanding academics and exceptional study abroad programs, but now he wasn't so sure.

Castiel hadn't really thought much of the invitation. It wasn't the first time she'd dragged him through the streets. As usual, they went to the little café down the street from Castiel's house for lunch, but, ever since she'd suggested the path along the river, the air between them had felt different, charged with an unfamiliar tension. If he were completely honest with himself, though, the tension had started the moment they'd taken a seat at the café.

He'd spent the entire meal trying to avoid the subject of his family's eviction and his banishment from the honors program. Anna certainly could be persistent when she wanted to be and refused to drop the subject. He used to find it endearing, but, in this situation, it was just downright infuriating.

Somehow he'd managed to distract her, using random facts and information, and carefully skirted around the topic for a solid hour. It wasn't like he hadn't had experience. He'd had to master the technique after being friends with her for so long; not once did he have to utter the word "demon" or "Dean."

On the way to the river, she had droned on and on about her studying abroad program. He was happy for her, and he told her so. But, instead of thanking him for the kind words like most _normal_ people would do, she bristled with anger because he wasn't jealous. Even when he tried to convince her that he envied the accomplishment, she picked up on his lie and became even _angrier_.

Finally, as if she sensed the direction his thought process was about to take, Anna turned to face Castiel. Her arms at her side, she met his gaze with the kind of reluctance one would expect of a guilty criminal. Once the image popped into his head, Castiel wished it hadn't. His overactive imagination conjured up several crazy scenarios starring a "guilty Anna" as the secret mastermind behind the whole charade, each progressive one more disturbing and stupider than the last. He fought to shake the ridiculous imagery from his head.

She visibly stiffened, hands clenching into fists at her side. Her head shot up, auburn hair fluttering wildly in the breeze, and determined blue eyes locked onto his. The sudden change in demeanor was like emotional whiplash, and Castiel could barely keep up. "I have a question to ask you."

"Okay… sure. What is it?"

"We've known each other for a while, right?"

"Um, yeah, we have." The question didn't sit well with Castiel. She knew the answer so why ask? "Why?'

"I… I want your sperm."

The blare of a barge shook the ground they stood on and shattered any semblance of tranquility that had fallen over the surrounding area. Castiel, however, didn't react to it. He was too caught up on the word "sperm" to focus on anything else.

"What?"

"I want to have sex with you. I want to have sex with you- right now," Anna charged on, leveling Castiel with a deadly serious look. If it were anyone else, he would definitely think the statement was nothing more than an innocent joke. No harm meant by it whatsoever. But this was Anna who did not kid- did not joke- ever.

"Anna…" He had no clue what he should say. Mainly because he had no clue how he _felt_. He didn't know how he felt about offering up his sperm or being intimate with someone or having sex or, cheifly, _Anna_. That was probably the most important question. Even if he wanted to have sex, there had to be mutual attraction for both people to enjoy it… right?

"What's wrong? You're not interested in girls?"

"I… well, um…"

"You don't want to have sex?"

"No, no, that's not it."

"Oh, so it's me. You don't want to have sex with _me_."

Leave it to Anna to sort things out so quickly. Castiel wanted to burrow under the ground and never come out, to live the rest of his life hiding in shame. His cheeks burned and stomach churned unpleasantly. And instead of offering up some kind of response, he just stood there like an idiot, gaping at her as if he didn't possess a single brain cell.

"I see how it is," she finally mumbled, speaking so quietly that Castiel almost missed it. She reached up and tightened the plush white scarf wrapped securely around her neck. "You're a fool, Castiel. A complete fool."

Taken aback by the vehemence in her voice, Castiel let out a small gasp and, once his mouth finally spanned shut, swallowed the lump in his throat. Anna huffed and rolled her eyes, two very uncharacteristic responses. Before he could dig the words up, scrape them from the cobweb-covered corners of his brain, Anna spun in a neat little circle and put her back to him once again.

The turn seemed to shock his recently unresponsive brain into action and forced the rash statement up his constricted throat. "Two years!"

Although it made no sense, Anna appeared to understand the meaning and stopped. She looked almost angelic, with the flaps of her coat and the silky strands of her hair fluttering in a sudden gust of wind, like a goddess straight from the pages of one of his mother's mythology books. "Two years and what?" she questioned.

"We can… you know."

She scoffed and shook her head, sending her wild hair into even more of a tizzy. "Have sex?" Anna mused, a hint of frustration and yet something akin to amusement in her tone.

"Yeah!" Castiel trilled. When she came back, maybe then he would have his life together and could accept her invitation without feeling as if his stomach had dropped down onto the sidewalk between his feet.

He expected her to be at least a little excited. She was the one who'd offered up the idea, after all. But, instead, she let out another exasperated huff of laughter and continued to walk along. "You really _are_ a fool, Castiel!"

Her words drifted along on the breeze, tickling Castiel's nose and forcing him to cross his arms to conserve body heat. Like the frigid temperature being ushered in by the approaching night, Anna's comment sent a shiver down his spine.

Feeling confused and beaten down, Castiel turned back to face the path he and Anna had been walking along. The bright light of surrounding houses shone through closed windows and people's voices, both of the citizens milling about and those sitting out on their porches, filled the mostly silent night. The smell of freshwater and peach blossoms surrounded Castiel, the familiar aromas of nature a source of comfort in the midst of the disturbing maelstrom of thoughts floating around in his head.

Castiel sighed and took a step forward. He couldn't help but glance over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of auburn hair and tan coattails, before proceeding on his way, desperate to be anywhere but here, anywhere he could hide from the frightening but very real world he lived in.

* * *

"Then you went to work the next day, and that one guy who worked with you died like that other guy!" Tomi cried right in the middle of Castiel's reminiscing.

Surprised by the boy's knowledge, he tipped his head forward and narrowed his scarlet eyes. Tomi didn't shy away from the gaze like most people did when he passed them on the streets. Of course, shapeshifters had no right to judge a person with weird hair and blood red eyes. "Who told you that?" Castiel asked.

"I heard you and Dean talking the other day… but, anyway, didn't the DHB take you away after that?"

Castiel rolled his eyes. The boy might be a supernatural creature, but, when it came down to it, he was still a child. Like every human child he'd ever encountered, Tomi was riddled with insatiable curiosity, a tendency to break the rules, and, as he'd just learned, a propensity for interrupting. He would've pushed the issue, but he knew from experience that the boy didn't plan on elaborating; that's the closest thing to an explanation he was going to get.

"Well, yes," Castiel continued, shifting his gaze to his lap, "they came to the place I worked. The head of the DHB… S-" He couldn't force the name past his lips. They seemed to have a mind of their own and wanted no part of the monster's name.

"Samuel Campbell," Karan supplied, bristling with pride. The idea of her taking pride in knowing of such a hideous human being's existence made Castiel nauseous. Just like her brother, Karan was a shapeshifter. He supposed that she knew the man simply because of the threat he posed to her kind, but, it worried him nevertheless. No one should have to know that name, let alone stand in the same fifty-mile radius as the man.

"That's him," Castiel affirmed, unwilling to repeat it, "He listed all of my past criminal charges and informed me of the DHB's… suspicions. They didn't really say much else before they crammed me into a car and drove me out past the city limits, off in the direction of the correctional facility…"

* * *

It wasn't in Castiel's nature to accept defeat. And yet there he was, stewing silently in the backseat of an official DHB car, crammed between two hunters with guns gripped tightly in their meaty hands.

At the helm sat the infamous Samuel Campbell. He hadn't stopped smiling since he'd shoved Castiel into the car, snarling out a hurried "traitor" before slamming the door in his captive's face. His flunkies weren't any nicer, that's for sure. They held him down against the cushions with enough pressure to break his wrists, growling hideous things in his ear, fingers lingering for an uncomfortably long time on his thighs. One of the men even had the nerve to mumble lewd sexual things against his neck as he leaned in to click Castiel's seatbelt into place.

Thankfully, they'd ceased their teasing about ten minutes into the trip. Samuel, however, didn't say a word the entire time. He faced forward, focusing intently on the road as if he expected something to jump out of the tree line and attack them. Castiel had no idea where he'd gotten that ridiculous idea from; it wasn't like he was important enough to be rescued.

"I doubt anyone will come to sa-"

As if on cue, Samuel slammed on the breaks. Every passenger, including Castiel, lurched forward. They tumbled back into their original position, cringing as the seatbelts pressed into their stomachs and chests. Curious, they peered out the front window, baffled by the cleaner sitting idly in the middle of the road. The cleaners were restricted to the city limits where people in Castiel's line of work inspected and maintained them, watching from the comfort of their station as the little square robots roamed the area in search of trash. What the hell was one doing out here?

"A cleaner? Out here?" the hunter to Castiel's right asked in his nasally voice.

"Something isn't right," Samuel agreed. _Oh look at the fearless leader, pointing out the obvious_. Castiel wanted to inform the monster of his redundancy but decided against it when he realized he'd be riddled with bullets before he even finished the snotty remark. "Stay here," Samuel grumbled and threw open the door, stepping cautiously out onto the pavement.

The cowards by Castiel's side loosened their grip on their victim's wrists. They stared out the window and watched quietly as Samuel raised his weapon, dark eyes scanning the vicinity for danger.

"I don't see any-"

Suddenly, the gun went flying out of his grasp, skittering across the road. Samuel's body toppled backwards against the hood of the car, his head striking the metal with a sickening _thud_, and fell to the ground.

The two men immediately let go of Castiel's wrists and pushed their doors open. They swung their weapons around in wild arcs as they tried to pinpoint their new enemy, eyes wide and clearly terrified. It wasn't often that a person took down Samuel Campell in five seconds flat.

Even Castiel was afraid. He remained frozen in place, fingers clutching the leather seats, chest heaving. The man who'd whispered, "Bet you'd like it if I spanked your tight ass" didn't get far before his head slammed into the window pane. A gunshot boomed and a burst of red splattered across the window. Blood, oh my God, that was definitely _blood_.

Another gunshot and more blood, this time from the other side of the car. Frantic, Castiel's head swiveled around to look out the opposite window. The blood-splattered windows made it even harder to see the person who'd interfered with the hunters' little transport mission. Castiel's body refused to budge, and all he could do was glance back and forth in hopes of catching a glimpse of the attacker.

_I'm next_, he reasoned. Blood pounded through his veins, thundering, loud, incessant, carrying adrenaline to every appendage, down to every quivering finger. A shot to the middle of his forehead or maybe one through his heart- that would end things quickly, effectively, so as to avoid any hassle from a mere civilian.

The driver's side door flew open and a man jumped into the front seat, carelessly tossing two guns into the passenger seat as he climbed in. Castiel couldn't see his face, but the short, spiky hairs on the top of his head were unmistakable.

"_Dean?_"

A grunt was the answer he got. _Well, nice to see you, too, Dean_.

"Where are we going?" Castiel cried, fighting to calm his wildly beating heart. Unlike Dean, he wasn't used to the whole "near death experience" thing.

"Just shut up," Dean hissed. He clasped the steering wheel tightly in his hands and pushed his foot against the accelerator with an astonishing amount of force. Castiel shot forward but managed to steady himself by clamping down on the two front seats.

"But why did you-"

"I'm getting us out of here. Seriously, be quiet. And be happy that this piece of shit didn't come equipped with a remote control." Although it was the least important thing for his brain to take note of at that point in time, it still honed in on the change in Dean's voice. His raspy tone sounded like that of a man who'd swallowed several sheets of sandpaper. Yet something about the way he rolled the "q" in "quiet" led Castiel to believe his voice normally had a melodic lilt to it. Interesting.

Castiel did as he was told but refused to sit back down. He hated not being in the loop and really _really_ wanted to get to the bottom of things. The thought of speeding off in a car driven by Dean with no clear destination in mind was a little unsettling. No, _very_ unsettling. Huge, monumental piles of unsettling.

Off in the distance, the sewer facility, another building run by the Bureau of Health, came into view. Its boxy shape, white walls, and multitude of windows were nothing out of the ordinary. Castiel had only seen it in pictures. As they approached the facility, he realized that he hadn't been missing much. Not that it came as a surprise or anything.

"How did you know I was coming?" The question had been eating away at Castiel the moment he'd recognized the short spikes of Dean's golden brown hair.

"I have my sources," his rescuer answered cryptically, a wicked smirk dancing across his lips, "besides, I knew they'd come looking for you sooner or later. When I heard about the mysterious deaths near the cleaning facility you worked at, I just had to investigate."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that dead son of bitch you used to work with caught good ol' Sammy's attention," Dean explained. Castiel wished that he could be sitting in the passenger seat where he could see the demon's face better and get an idea of what he was really thinking. Of course, if he remembered correctly, Dean was by no means an open book. "Once he heard you worked there, he had to come over and say hi. Well, and take you away to relearn all about me and my creepy crawly friends outside the walls."

"You mean take me to the correctional facility. That's where they take people to… rehabilitate them. Teach them why we should never associate with the supernatural."

Dean let out a little noise of frustration. "Of course. We're not good enough for your kind anyway."

"Dean…"

"And let me guess. The real reason they thought to scoop your ass up? You were talking shit about the city at work, weren't you?"

They passed over a bump, and Castiel nearly lost his balance. The city did have security cameras set up in just about every space you could imagine. That day, he'd mentioned his suspicions about the true nature of demons. They must've heard it- Dean made a good point.

"I only said one thing…"

"Eh, that's enough. Sons of bitches will jump at the chance to cart somewhere off to their goddamn 'rehabilitation centers.'"

"So… that's how you knew when and where to find me?" Dean still hadn't quite given an answer.

"Basically," Dean replied curtly.

They passed over another bump, but Castiel didn't budge this time. He dug his fingernails into the leather. He welcomed the pain that shot up his arms when he pressed just a little too hard. What was going on? And how was he, a simple civilian, involved in such a mess?

"I can't take this," Castiel whispered. He tucked his chin against his chest in an attempt to hide his face from Dean's wandering eyes. "I have no idea what's going on! It's like… I'm lost, and it's just so hopeless!"

He certainly wasn't prepared for the car to come to a screeching halt. Weren't there people following them? Dean didn't seem to care, though. He slammed his foot against the brake pedal, and, before the car even came to a complete standstill, turned on Castiel. And the boy really wished that he could take back whatever he'd said that had upset Dean.

The furious demon reached out and yanked Castiel closer by the collar of his jacket. The luminescent green eyes Castiel vaguely remembered from their first meeting were gone. In their place, there was only darkness. Two identical pools of inky black, two depthless pits, peered back at him with murderous intent. They were, to put it bluntly, captivating in the most horrifying way possible.

"Don't _ever _say that!" Dean growled. Heat radiated from his skin, powerful enough to seep through the thick fabric of Castiel's jacket, setting every inch of the boy's skin aflame. "The government, the DHB, Samuel- they could crush us under their feet like the pathetic little worker ants they think we are. And they wouldn't feel a single bit of remorse! You're going to give up _now_?"

Even if Castiel's throat wasn't being squeezed shut by Dean's powerful grip, he still wouldn't have tried to offer up a response.

"You're stronger than that. If that's how you feel now, I know that the bastards will kill you the first chance they get," Dean growled. Slowly but surely, though, the anger seeped from his voice. His eyes returned to their usual shade of forest green and fluttered shut for a brief second before reopening. "Remember that."

He finally released his hold on Castiel, quickly wrapping his fingers around the steering wheel once again. After about a minute- or probably two if Castiel were being completely honest with himself- of dumbstruck silence, he came back to reality. Unsure as to whether he should say something, he decided that nothing was better than something. He readjusted his body into its former position and watched quietly as they drew nearer to the sewer facility.

"Okay, I need you to duck," Dean suddenly growled.

"What?" Castiel squeaked, eyes bugging out of his skull. "Wha- What are you doing?"

"Dammit, Cas." Dean offered him a moment or two to bask in the glory of hearing the nickname once more, after four long years of strictly "Castiel," before reaching out and shoving his head down.

Dean followed suit but didn't remove his foot from the gas pedal. Castiel was almost as frightened as he'd been when he'd watched the three men knocked unconscious in less than a minute. This was only the second time he and Dean had interacted. Was he really willing to place his trust in a demon after knowing him for such a brief amount of time?

_Shhhhrrrrr shrrreeee crack!_

The roof of the car, the one that'd been above their heads moments before, suddenly vanished, torn off by the cement entranceway of the sewer facility. Cringing, Castiel burrowed his face into the leather seat cushion. Dean's fingers tightened their hold on his head, scratching against his scalp, and he thought he heard a string of expletives spill from his lips.

The absence of a roof slowed the car, tires screeching as the totaled vehicle spun in a wide arc across the linoleum floors, and, with a gut-wrenching lurch, came to a stop in the middle of the room.

Castiel felt like he might vomit, but Dean was tugging him up and out of the smoking heap of metal before he could say anything. "Let's go!" Dean screamed as his way of explanation, dragging Castiel down hallway after hallway. Without a single indication of where he was going, he made a sharp turn, careening down a hidden stairwell- one that Castiel swore up and down couldn't have been there moments earlier- at a breakneck pace.

The room that awaited them was in the basement and housed the sewer line. Massive tanks stood tall in rows of threes, an assortment of pipes crisscrossing between each one. The actual sewer line, Castiel noted as they neared it, reminded him of a brown, far dirtier version of the river that ran through No.6. He cringed inwardly at the connection. He had always loved the river. How would he ever look at it the same way after seeing _this_?

Dean came to an abrupt halt, and Castiel nearly went toppling into the sludgy depths of the sewer line. His mind drifted back to the way Anna had forced him to stop. This was becoming a thing, people coming to a complete standstill without any kind of warning, leaving him to flail around like an idiot as he fought to regain balance and keep from falling flat on his face. He quickly righted himself and turned to glare at his vague and incredibly frustrating guide. There, in the low lighting of the sewer facility, Castiel finally managed to get a good look at the demon who'd trudged through his window four years ago, appearing in the middle of the night with blood streaming down his thin, bony arm.

He looked… different but not to the degree Castiel had expected. His hair hadn't changed, and, although his face no longer possessed the softness of a child, the shape had remained the same. He still had the strong jawline, the thin lips, and- _oh_. Those same mesmerizing eyes, irises filled with lush forests and dazzling sunlight, peered from beneath brunet lashes. Freckles dotted the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones, scattered as if someone had tossed them in the air with no concern as to where they might land.

His body, though, had undergone the most change. He no longer looked like a gangly pile of bones and limbs. He'd filled out considerably in the last four years. Although he wore a thick black jacket, it was clear that his arms and shoulders were stronger, more muscular. A red plaid shirt peeked out from beneath the jacket and his bottom half was concealed by khaki pants and a worn pair of boots. Like his arms, his thighs and calves looked thicker, allowing their owner to run long distances without giving out. They also looked slightly bowlegged, a detail Castiel couldn't believe he'd missed when they first met.

Overall, Dean looked better. Castiel wondered if it was because of his age or a lifestyle change. Come to think of it, he had no idea where Dean lived.

"You're gonna love this," Dean chuckled. He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out two pairs of goggles. Grinning widely, he thrust one in Castiel's direction, holding it by the stretchy gray strap. Based on the devilish smirk tugging at his lips and the amused glint in his eyes, Dean hadn't noticed Castiel's once-over.

"Goggles?" Castiel hesitantly grabbed the goggles and, even though it'd been a while since he'd spent time at a pool, tugged them over his head and snapped the lenses into place.

Still, Dean managed to finish first. "We're going for a swim. You wear goggles when you swim, right?"

_He couldn't possibly mean-_

"In _that?_" Castiel cried, pointing at the murky substance below as if it had personally offended him. "That's really the only way out?"

"Yes, sir," Dean sing-songed. He sounded far too happy about the prospect of swimming through human waste. How could somebody possibly get their kicks from a grotesque thing like that?

Castiel cringed and reached up to make sure his goggles were firmly in place. The last thing he wanted was for the stupid things to slide down and let in whatever the hell it was he would be swimming through.

Before he could make another argument, any other solution that didn't involve travelling through human excrement and filth, Dean beat him to it. He cracked his neck, bent his knees, and dove in, disappearing into the murky stream with a splash right as Castiel opened his mouth to speak. Worried now without Dean by his side, Castiel glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone had followed them, but the basement appeared to be empty. Whoever worked there appeared to spend most of their time on the upper stories. Of course, who would ever want to stay down on this level for an extended period of time, stuck with the awful odor of waste and the faint squeaking of rats and mice? It certainly didn't sound pleasant to Castiel.

He closed his eyes and tried to mimic Dean's dive. His neck felt fine, but he titled his head to each side in an attempt to crack it anyway. Next, he bent his knees, readying himself for the jump. He'd never done anything like this before. Pools and sewer lines were most certainly _not_ the same thing.

"What the hell are you doing up there?" Dean's voice spluttered from below. Droplets of water slid lazily down his cheeks, pausing on his jawline before dropping off into the hideous stream from which they originated. "Hurry up!"

"I am, calm down," Castiel called back. Dean sighed heavily and reached up to brush a stray droplet from his chin. He dipped back under, feet kicking out behind him as he submerged himself in the murky depths once again.

Castiel watched for several seconds as he swam, arms and legs fighting against the current. It looked like he knew what he was doing. Suddenly, just as the thought crossed Castiel's mind, Dean's limbs stopped moving. His body, however, wanted to continue on its merry way. The steady flow of sludge easily scooped Dean up and carried him away, completely at its mercy. Apparently, the sewer line had a strong current.

_Great_. Castiel clenched his eyes shut and breathed. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten how horrid the room's smell was. The fumes didn't sit well with his already roiling stomach. When they made it out of this hell hole, he would confront Dean the first chance he got because he owed Castiel _big_ time.

Cursing Dean and his crazy ideas, Castiel sucked in as much air as he could, pushed off his feet, and pulled his knees to his chest. Dean's dive had been far more graceful, but, for some reason, the first thing Castiel had thought to do was cannonball. Why? Eh, who knows.

The sludge came up fast, rushing around Castiel the moment he hit the surface, swallowing him whole. Castiel's jump was off; he landed directly into the current. He only had a second to sort himself out, sealing his lips shut as if his life depended on it, before it tugged him along, pulling so hard that Castiel feared he might have his arms and legs torn off.

It was too much too fast. He'd been to the pool maybe once or twice in his short lifetime, and not a single visit had prepared him for such a powerful force, a gaping maw with an unyielding grasp on Castiel's writhing body. The water's taste was even worse than its smell, and that, too, caught him off guard. He could only imagine what the awful stuff would've felt like if it had seeped into his eyes. A third eye would probably emerge on the middle of his forehead when he resurfaced. Or maybe he'd grow an extra appendage. That could be useful.

Castiel had no semblance of control over his path. Even with his eyes open, he couldn't see through the sludgy brown water surrounding him. What kind of creatures lived in something like-

Something strong, stronger even than the current, tugged on his right arm, pulling him away from the flow's grasp. Suddenly, the blessed feeling of a breeze's light caress brushed his arm, then his shoulders, his face, his chest, his hips, his legs and feet. He eagerly parted his lips and breathed in, basking in the rush of air that flowed into his lungs. His excitement quickly gave way to shock, though, when the cold press of concrete and the rough texture of its unforgiving surface came into contact with his face.

It took him a few moments to get accustomed to his new surroundings. The familiar chill of cement hit him first followed by the lingering stench of the filth he'd just emerged from. With a grunt, he wiggled his fingers and tried to rise to his knees. They felt like jelly but managed to support him when he lifted his body off the ground.

An unfamiliar taste lingered on his tongue, and, unable to hold it back any longer, Castiel began to cough, spraying saliva and… well, he didn't want to know what else had been lodged in his throat, but it all came spilling from his lips. He spluttered, struggling to catch his breath. Clearly his mouth hadn't done its job and stayed shut.

"Come on! You're tougher than this," Dean growled. Castiel hadn't even realized he was there, but the same iron grip from before was back, fingers clenched tightly around his wrist. With a sharp tug, Dean pulled Castiel to his feet.

"Dean-"

"Try to keep up!" Dean snapped and released Castiel's wrist. He turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, pumping his arms as if he were running in a track race instead of through the grimy pathways of the sewers.

With a frustrated huff, Castiel followed after him, wondering what the hell he'd gotten himself into.

* * *

Never. _Again_.

Castiel threw his body over the side of the sewer hatch and flopped onto the ground, completely ignoring the sharp sting of pain in his back when he landed. He gulped in the fresh air, hungrily breathing it in, eyes fluttering shut. They tickled his cheekbones, and the few droplets of water still stuck on his lashes trickled down his face.

He wanted to punch Dean. Never in his life had he wanted to strike a human being, to engage in violence, but after what he'd just done, the idea of smashing his fist into that stupid jawline was starting to look pretty tempting. The next time he asked Castiel to follow him, he was getting an outline of every little step of their mission before he agreed to it. Blindly following orders didn't seem to be his thing- not that he'd ever thought it was.

"Hey, Your Majesty!"

_Your Majesty? Where had that come from?_ Castiel grudgingly opened his eyes. Dean's voice had come from above. The sewer hatch sat in the middle of a depression, possibly the ruins of a building. The cement blocks and one lonely table leg were the only indications of the space's old use. In the time it had taken for Castiel to squeeze his body out of the hatch, Dean had scaled one of the walls.

As much as it hurt to do so, Castiel sat up and, with all of his remaining strength, shoved his hands down into the dirt and lifted his body off the ground. He slowly straightened up and tried to brush the dirt from his clothes, which was really a pointless endeavor at this point.

Looking back on it, Castiel should've known something was off the minute he raised his head and looked up to where Dean stood. The area looked fairly desolate from where he stood, but that didn't come as a shock. He'd heard stories about what the Other Side was supposed to be like. There would be miles and miles of ruins, as far as the eye could see, and the ground would be a shade of sandy brown, a thin layer of dust and dirt covering everything like a blanket. The plant life would consist solely of cacti and dead trees, possibly a few tufts of weeds here and there. And, of course, the place would be fraught with monstrosities, hideous supernatural creatures that would gladly kill a human being without batting an eye. Well, if they _had_ any visible eyes, that is.

Castiel scanned the space for the shortest wall. He gripped a hold of the topmost row of cement blocks and tugged his body up. The blocks were slipperier than he anticipated, though, and he started to fall back. Dean reached out and grabbed his elbow, catching him just in time, and tugged him up onto solid ground as he'd done when he pulled Castiel out of the sewer line.

Dean muttered something under his breath, a judgmental snort that sounded a lot like "royalty", and kept his hands on Castiel's arms as his reluctant partner in crime climbed to his feet.

"Welcome, Your Majesty," Dean repeated and pulled his arm back, sweeping it out in an arc as he bent at the waist in some sad imitation of a bow. Castiel's lips twitched, twisting into a frustrated sneer. He opened his mouth, ready to give Dean a serious tongue-lashing, but froze before the words could even form in his head.

He blinked.

And blinked again.

His lips parted in a tiny "o" but nothing more. They refused to let him speak.

Even if he could, though, what would he say? Because, seriously, _what_?

Behind them, trees, ones far taller than any in No.6, stood together like some sort of wall of their own, stretching in each direction for as far as Castiel could see. The trunks were thick, and he knew just by looking at them that if he wrapped his arms around one, his fingers wouldn't even come close to touching. The branches tangled together above in a wild mess of leaves and tree bark and made it impossible to see whatever lied within. _A forest_, Castiel's mind supplied.

And, although the forest's existence surprised Castiel, the sprawling city off in the distance left him utterly speechless. They weren't ruins, but they certainly weren't anything like the humble homes or massive, remote-controlled mansions within No.6's walls. Instead of flat roofs, the buildings had ramshackle-looking tops that appeared to be nothing more than overlying pieces of scrap metal. Farther off, towers more than twice the height of the trees- _skyscrapers_- stretched upwards, like human fingers reaching for the sky, hoping to touch the feathery wisp of a passing cloud. Other structures stood alongside their towering neighbors but only appeared to be a few stories high.

But there was more; there was _always _more.

Casually strolling from building to building, without a care in the world, were- "Are those… people?" Castiel blurted.

At his side, Dean scoffed and, although Castiel didn't see it, he could practically hear the eye roll in the demon's voice when he answered. "You wish."

"I… Dean… where- how are we going to- what-"

"Chill, Cas, chill," Dean chuckled. He reached out and placed a steadying hand on Castiel's shoulder. "I'll take you to my place, and we'll figure everything out from there, okay?"

Apparently, Castiel had hit word limit. His lips moved but not a single word came out. His brain was screaming at him, yelling ceaselessly about what an absolute mess he'd managed to get himself into, and the inner battle kept his brain from making his mouth form actual words.

"Heh, I figured as much." Dean trailed his fingers down from Castiel's shoulder- one of the few things that the momentarily braindead boy's brain took note of in the midst of mental chaos- and grabbed his wrist once again. He felt that it was something he'd have to get used to. Although he loathed being told what to do and being led around like a dog, he'd do it for Dean. Who else did he have to trust on the Other Side?

"I better get you inside before you pass out." It sounded like a joke, but, with the current state of Castiel's mind being the way it was, he didn't find it all that funny.


End file.
